Long Way to Go
by TwiliPrincess049
Summary: Things have a funny way of moving her around. She never thought she would end up here, with him, and this. Never thought she would think of it now-but some people just don't live in blissful ignorance. Fortunately, things have a funny way of working out.
1. Unlikely Places

**Right, then. This is Twili, reporting back from No-Man's-Land. I'm BACK, BABY. YEAH.**

**(dude. Now watch this story peter out and die by the third chapter. Don't worry. It won't.)**

**Anyway, hopefully this will pull through. I won't be as elaborate as I was on Carpe Diem, because that was just a special case (in the Author Notes, I mean). However, let me explain to you the nature of this story:**

**Firstly, don't judge me from this. This is my OMGZZORS-I-THINK-I'LL-BE-MATURE-AND-WRITE-A-SERIOUS-ROMANCE-THAT-ACTUALLY-MAKES-CHARACTERS-MULTI-LAYERED-AND-BIPOLAR-and-all-that-goodness story. It won't be my normal writing, but it will be rated M (in future) for a reason: interesting stuff ahead (no lemon, you pervs), language (for the milder souls-I don't curse that much when I talk), and in-general practice. I'm all right for now with where I am as a writer, but I'm really working on making my characters truly grow and change-not just that surface stuff. You know, the girl-is-selfish-then-she-meets-smoking-hot-guy-and-realizes-her-life-is-worth-living stuff. No. WE WILL BE DEALING WITH AN IDENTITY CRISIS OR TWO AND ISSUES WITH CORE VALUES AND MORALS.**

**Overall, it's gonna be a bumpy ride. But I think it'll be fun. (the first chapter might be a little slow-it always is in third person, with me. I like first person better, but third person has its merits)**

**BEFORE WE BEGIN: Nesiria is my first character. Elf mage. Experienced. In a romance with Alistair. Don't let that deter you. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age. At all. From this point on, though, my disclaimers get kind of strange. Random and whatnot.  
**

**x.X.x  
**

"All right. We'll stay at the Gnawed Noble."

"Oh, joy," Alistair muttered in Nesiria's general direction, and she turned sharply. The lantern light glimmered in her eyes, though, and the elf gave a small half-smirk.

"All right. You can set up camp in the back alley, hm?" she asked, giving him an innocently inquiring look. He recoiled and put his hands up in front of his chest.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no. I'm staying _here_," the Templar insisted, and his favorite Grey Warden-the only other one, really, though she had said before that he was narcissistic enough to like himself just as much-smiled.

"I'll be the judge of that." She gave her hair a mock-flip and opened the door of the tavern, gesturing for the others to follow. Wynne, the gentlest mage of the group, sighed contentedly. Young love, she thought. I hope they never lose each other.

The bartender raised a dirty rag at the party's entrance, and Nesiria nodded in return. A woman standing near the bar, shifting her weight absently with her arms folded across her chest, glanced at the group and waved cheerily.

"Welcome to the Gnawed Noble!" she said with a lilting voice, slightly accented with hints of Orlesian. "How many rooms will you be needing?" She glanced again at the size of the group, and before Nesiria could answer she continued, "And do you have any need of a few...special services? We have men, women, and both!" The elf shook her head quickly, and answered the first question.

"I think we'll need three. Three rooms." Generally, the males and females in the group separated and had their own quarters-less than four to a room, though it had been known to get awkward-but they tried to get an extra when they had the gold. Mostly it was an issue of comfort, and someone always objected to sharing a room with Bear-the Mabari hound that insisted he have his own bed.

"Right, then. I'm Edwina, and-really..." She lowered her voice, her eyes darting to one side of the room. "...if you do need anything by way of special services, ask Ara over there. She hasn't been doing too well lately, what with the lack of customers." Nesiria followed Edwina's gaze, as did almost everyone else. Ara was perhaps in her twenties, one leg propped up on the chair opposite her and listlessly tracing knots and patterns in the wood table. Her eyes were dreary and gray, though she glanced toward them when Nesiria stared for a moment too long and sat up, her dress sliding farther up her leg. The elf looked elsewhere and turned to lightly slap Alistair's face away, muttering only half-jokingly, "Shame on you." He smiled hopelessly.

"I _am _male, you know."

"Then you aren't a mature male."

"Oh, ouch." Nearby, Wynne had done the same with Zevran-though she had her staff pointed threateningly at his face so that he had gone cross-eyed trying to watch it, eyebrows furrowed at awkward angles. Leliana studiously kept her gaze on the ceiling, and Sten...well, Sten was more interested in the rather expensive-looking painting on the wall above Ara. He decided that it was a fake-the brushstrokes were far too even to be natural-and looked back at Nesiria.

"I will find our rooms," he told her, and she nodded absently.

"Thanks." She looked pointedly at Alistair, and he jumped.

"Right, well...I'll just...go with him, then...?" he said, phrasing it like a question. The elf nodded with a smile, grasping his hand for a moment.

"And Zevran will accompany you," the Antivan spoke up, shying away from Wynne's staff and tiptoeing over to the Templar.

"All right. Anyone else who wants to can go up. I'll be there in a minute." She turned to Ara and started toward the girl, who straightened. Morrigan rolled her eyes and followed the others upstairs, Wynne trailing with Leliana tagging along behind so that Nesiria was the only one left. Not that she minded much, really.

She plopped down next to Ara, introducing herself.

"Need anything?" the girl asked, giving the elf a well-practiced alluring stare. Nesiria shook her head, smiling.

"Sorry, no." The stare disappeared.

"All right, then. You could have bought me dinner, you know. But fine. I've gone without it before." Her voice was dry, and cracked. Nesiria felt a spasm of pity, but it must have been too obvious in her face-or far too predictable-because Ara's expression sharpened. "And I don't need your help."

"Then don't consider this help," the elf answered, sliding a sovereign across the table. She stood, smiling lightly, and thudded back up the stairs. Ara's hand closed over the gold coin, eyes widening. _Don't consider this help. _

_

* * *

_

Morning came, though it came incredibly late. Everyone had finally gotten to sleep at the wee hours of the morning from twenty four hours of journeying and walking and walking and questing, so they found themselves snoozing until incredible times. As Nesiria rolled over she nearly bumped into Bear, who had snuck into her bed in the middle of the night and practically shoved her to the edge. Wishing he was Alistair-partly because she would never be shoved to the edge with him-she swung her bare feet onto the floor and buckled and laced and snapped her armor on. Leliana was swinging her bow across her back on the opposite side of the room, and Morrigan leaned by the doorway and sighed every now and then.

"Oh, patience, girl," Wynne chided when she exhaled rather loudly for the fourth time. "We're moving."

"Not fast enough to stop the Blight," the mage snapped.

"Go cry to the Templars, then. As if you even care about the darkspawn eating us all," Alistair intervened, poking his head inside the doorway. A pillow hit him in the face.

"I'm _dressing_." Nesiria chucked another pillow.

"Yes, but you sleep in your clothes," he answered, catching it. "Unless that dog somehow got them off, I don't have any reason to put my innocence in jeopardy."

"_Innocence_," the elf muttered. "Innocence! I'll show you how much innocence you have, young man."

"Ooh, scary." He ducked out of the room just as a blast of icy air froze the humidity in the air around the doorframe.

"Yeah, you better run," Nesiria growled, but she smiled as she spoke.

"Ready?" Morrigan asked, somehow fitting a sigh into her question.

"Nah, I think we'll just stay here for the day."

"You don't want to mess with me like that."

"I probably don't."

The elf finally slung her staff over her shoulder, leading the way into the hall where Sten, Zevran, and Alistair were already waiting. Bear trotted out behind them, tongue lolling out, and shoved his face into the Antivan's crotch as a customary greeting. Zevran yelped, pushing the dog's head away and backing into a wall, and Alistair snorted.

"At least he's found a new friend."

"Hush, because once he was doing it to you." Zevran's eyes narrowed, and he turned away to evade the huge dog-unsuccessfully.

"Right, then," Nesiria interjected, clearing her throat. "Shall we?"

"We shall. Where to?" the Templar inquired.

"Perhaps we can talk to Sergeant Kylon today-I know he said that he had a few propositions for us. Good chance to help the needy and poor, hm? And, you know, get some practice." Sten suppressed a sigh, but Morrigan let her feelings be known.

"Can we _please_ just _get out _of Denerim? I am _sick_ of this place."

"That's nice. You can stay in the inn all day, if you'd like." Nesiria smiled to take the sting out of her words, and the other mage looked away absently. Her argument had been halfhearted, anyway.

"Fine. Only because I don't like you."

"Thanks." The elf unrolled a map of Denerim borrowed from the Chantry, finding the Sergeant's place and nodding to herself. Right in their region, next to the market. She stuffed it back in her backpack. "Let's go, team."

They reached the man, hair graying, right by the pavilion. He recognized the group immediately, throwing his arms out.

"Ah, you're back!"

Nesiria nodded politely.

"Well, I have been thinking, and I believe-if you're willing-that you would do best to start with the White Falcons. They're a band of mercenaries causing trouble, sucking some of my men along with them, but we don't have enough to spare to fight them all. Can you handle it?"

"You want us to kill them, fight them, or scare them off?"

"Don't kill them if you can help it, but make sure they don't return. And if they do, then I'd say you cripple them. If they keep coming back, you didn't cripple them enough. Then you kill them." Kylon grinned. "Easy as that."

"Sounds simple enough. Where are they?" Nesiria, of course, couldn't say that she liked the idea of killing anyone, because with the Blight they needed all the help they could get-though it was because of the Blight that taking life became a necessity sometimes, however much they hated it.

"Last I heard, they were drinkin' their lives away at the Pearl. I'd start there."

"Right. Thank you, and we'll return soon."

"I might have more work for ye' if you come back."

They turned and charted a course for the next district, through the back alleys and to the docks where Isabela's ship floated. Alistair didn't like the "if" in Kylon's parting sentence, but he said nothing.

The bartender didn't look up when they entered the Pearl, and Isabela waved from a back hall, a straight shot from where Nesiria stood. The elf nodded good-naturedly, but the smile on her face disappeared when she saw the White Falcon mercenaries. She walked up to the man who was clearly the leader, wanting to get this over with quickly, and asked quietly, "What would it take for me to get you to leave?" He turned in surprise, took her in and registered her question, and raised an eyebrow.

"A helluva lot, missy." A small, self-righteous smirk spread on his face.

"A fight?"

"I wouldn't want you to fight me."

"I would." She sometimes enjoyed putting on a bravado-these comebacks didn't show themselves often. Mostly she just cast the first spell because she had nothing left to say.

"Oh, ye would? Well, then..." He crossed the room and held the door open for her. "Why don't we take this outside?"

* * *

Nesiria didn't kill them, though they were heavily outmatched with the mages. Immobilizing every man was no problem for the three magic-users in the party, and then it was a simple matter for Alistair and Sten to knock them down, Leliana to plant a few arrows in their armor, and Zevran to somehow drop from the very sky and scare the Maker's wind out of anyone-his allies as well. From there, the mercenaries left without a problem.

"Well..." she sighed, dusting her armor off. "I suppose we go back to Kylon now." She had had fun in the thick of it, she had to admit, but now that it was over she realized-as always-that she would rather have never injured anyone. It was just a matter of ignoring the feeling.

"I suppose we do. Shall we take a different route back?" Alistair suggested, and the elf nodded.

"Probably a good idea."

As it turned out, it probably was.

* * *

They wove through a few alleyways, dodging bandit groups with magic for the most part, and nearly reached the market district without event. It was Bear's sharp senses that prevented that, though, and he stopped and held one paw suspended in the air. Nesiria halted as well, waiting and wondering if he would find another rotten cake for her to present to Alistair and claim to have made it. He brushed his nose against the ground in a few circles before following a distinct trail behind one of the shacks and eventually into it.

Nesiria and the others tailed behind, and paused in the decrepit doorway. There, shafts of sunlight falling over her face and forcibly-bleached hair so that it grew out brown near the roots, was Ara. Her eyes glinted from under her arm, and she uncurled and pulled her locks out of her face when she recognized the elf. Her right hand was gouged and bloodied, unwrapped and still bleeding, but other than a few minor bruises on her jaw and forearms she seemed all right. Her eyes narrowed.

"What happened?" Nesiria asked, a hint of urgency in her voice.

"Your damn gold." Ara paused, squinting up at them. "Following me now?"

"No...the dog found you..." The elf trailed off. "The gold?"

"The sovereign you so kindly gave me." Her voice was layered thick with sarcasm. "Not everyone in Denerim is peachy, you know. I swear by Andraste they can _smell_ it. So they came after me, and I didn't let go until I couldn't keep my hand closed 'nymore. Always said it was safer to be damn poor and starve than filthy rich and be murdered for it."

"You gave her a sovereign?" Morrigan asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. "What are we, a charity? That's the Chantry's job, not ours. _We _don't hand out gold because we have more than she did. And you got her into trouble, to boot."

"All right, _fine,_" Nesiria snapped. "I didn't know."

"Damn right you didn't. Leave me alone." Ara turned away, and the elf hesitated.

"Wait. At least let me help you."

"You already _did_."

"I told you not to think of that as help. Just..." She cast around for something. "Your hand. That won't...raise suspicion or anything, would it?" She was, undeniably, out of her league. Compared to this, the Mage's Tower was a safe haven. This was tooth-and-nail for a few silvers. For dinner. For food.

"What can you do?" Ara asked, shielding it. In truth, she was doing her best to ignore the gash-it had made bile rise in her throat three times already, from either the incessant pain or the look of it. She hadn't known that there was so much more than just blood in her palm: tendons, capillaries, the whole lot. And it was revolting when it was oozing out and she could pluck her tendons like a harp. Or, at least, she imagined she could. Not that that made it any better.

"I can heal it. Then wrap it, so no one knows it's healed. You might have to be a bit of an actress about it, though-pretend like it hurts and everything." Nesiria shrugged. So tempting.

"Pretend? Why? I'm never going back out anyway."

"Of course you are. No one lives in a shack their whole life."

"If I went back out, I wouldn't have much of a whole life to live."

"Fine. Just let me heal it."

Ara hesitated, hearing some reserve gone in her voice and, despite herself, wishing it had stayed. "Okay."

With surprising experience, Nesiria took her fingers and turned her palm up, gripping her staff and letting the currents of magic flow from it. Ara shuddered, a feeling like rubber bands pulling at each other beneath her skin, and when she looked down again there was nothing but a pink, shining scar. She flexed her fingers, using her tattered shirt to wipe the blood off and trying to keep from gagging-though she failed-as Nesiria stood with a strange expression.

"I'm going to stay here tonight," she announced. "Anyone who wants to stay can: anyone who doesn't can go back to the Gnawed Noble."

"Oh, come on," Morrigan muttered. "And I'm going to be the only one with enough sense to sleep in a bed while I still can."

"I think I will accompany you in selfishness." Zevran spoke. "We will be leaving Denerim soon, I assume." Bear got up and followed the elf, who groaned but carried on behind Morrigan as she swept out.

"All right," Nesiria said, almost to herself. "Can't say I didn't see that coming." She sank down next to Ara, and Wynne, Alistair, Leliana, and Sten threw out a few blankets outside of the shack. Knowing his favorite elf well, Alistair hurled a rolled-up blanket into the doorway, then another.

"Have fun playing House," he called, and she smiled.

"We will."

All through this, Ara had remained silent, pondering her hand. Now she looked up. "What exactly are you doing?"

"I don't know. I just felt like staying here."

"Protecting me or something? You feel bad?" Some cynicism was leaking into her voice again, and Nesiria shrugged.

"I kind of wanted to get you talking. I'm curious. You know, about you and why you're here in the market district instead of having fun at your job in the Pearl. Other things, too."

"What is this, a diversion? Slipping me more gold or something?"

"No, not a diversion. You mind telling me?"

"Very much, actually." Ara grabbed a blanket and threw it out over herself, drawing it around her shoulders and hunching away from the imposing elf, cast in shadows now that the sun was beginning to sink.

"All right. I can wait."

"I doubt it."

In truth, she couldn't. Nesiria dozed for awhile, and jerked awake at Ara's sudden voice come midnight. She rubbed her eyes, then registered what was happening and sat up.

"I won't tell you everything," the girl was saying. "Just the answers to what you addressed. For example, my father is still alive somewhere in Denerim, though I don't know him anymore and he never knew me, and my mother...well, I don't know where she is. As soon as my brother was old enough to take care of us both, she upped and left. So there's my orphan sob-story. We had a messed-up family, anyway." Nesiria blinked.

"Then some things changed, some didn't, and I ended up able to take care of myself all right but with no means of doing so. My brother was...somewhere else, though I still...saw him, and there wasn't any way of making money in Denerim. I wasn't going to steal yet, because there were plenty of people that needed their things as much as I did, so I visited the Pearl after Isaac gave me the idea of...their jobs. It didn't work out for awhile, and I ran out of resources. I couldn't sell anything, I was too old to become an apprentice, and I had already had people ask me why I wasn't working with Sanga already. So, finally, when I was on the verge of stealing everyone blind, I went back." Ara shrugged. "One thing after another, and I ended up leaving the Pearl and finding better business at the Gnawed Noble with Edwina's regulars. So far it's worked all right, but I still don't see how they're so happy about it with Sanga. That's it."

"Oh." Really, Nesiria didn't know how anything else she said would make a difference. Oh. It made sense. She nodded. "Okay, then. I'll talk, if you'd like, or we can just sleep."

"Sleep."

"Wait-one more thing."

"What?"

"How long since you started that?"

"Being a hooker?"

"Um...yeah, I suppose. _Prostitute_ sounds too saintly, huh?"

"That's why I say hooker. Awhile. More than, say, four years. I lost count."

"Oh." Okay. Nesiria yawned and slowly dropped off again when it was clear Ara had nothing more to say, back into sleep with a new story circling in her head. It was true, she thought idly. _Hooker _sounds so much more badass.

**x.X.x**

**So, if you've never read anything of mine before (and I doubt you have), I almost always do A/N framing my chapter. Generally they comment or explain something you wouldn't otherwise understand had I said it at the beginning, and-of course-I always need to thank you and then beg for reviews. **

**Questions? Things that I missed? This'll be kind of a jacked-up story, because we'll be going out-of-order and in circles rather than the linear game path (which, for me, goes like this: Redcliffe, Mages' Tower, Sacred Ashes, Brecilian Forest, blah blah blah and crap, and Orzammar. Wooo.)**

**BUT. **

**WE WILL BE CIRCLING AROUND. Say, starting with Redcliffe and then going to the Mages' Tower and then stopping and doing some crap and wasting a bunch of chapters on an entirely different journey that actually directly involves our main character (who, if you haven't figured out, is Ara). Then we go back to the game path, then leave it, then go back-etc. It might take awhile. **

**Okay! Thanks!  
**


	2. Dull to be Sharpened

**I'm bach!**

**Sorry this took so long, for anyone who's following it. Ch. 2 is HERE. :D**

**(I promised not to do very elaborate Author's Notes this time, and it's kind of relaxing. When I want to rant, though, you'll know)**

**Disclaimer: pickles.**

**x.X.x  
**

She barely woke up in time. Her eyes opened blearily, not registering the heel of a foot disappearing out of the doorway, and a moment later she jumped up.

"Ara!" she called in a muted voice, stepping over the snoozing Alistair-who had fallen asleep in front of the shack's dilapidated doorway-and padding after her. The girl spun.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"Why are you leaving?"

"You're being too nice to me. I can take care of myself."

"Do you want to come with us?" The words were out of Nesiria's mouth before they went through the filter in her mind, but they couldn't be taken back now. She probably wouldn't have anyway, given the chance, though the reactions of her party members was painfully predictable. Ara hesitated.

"Huh?"

"Like...leave Denerim and journey with us."

"So like a straggler that you pick up?"

"In essence. I assume you can fight, or you can be taught...?"

"I have a knife or two. Clearly, I can't use them well." She gestured vaguely to her palm and fingers where Nesiria had closed the gash the night before. Then her guard was back up. "But why would I go with you?"

"I don't know. We always need all the direct help we can get, and that generally means more people available to fight, talk, etcetera. Any other skills are useful, too-Leliana can pick locks, Zevran can drop out of trees and from behind bushes to start the fight off with a backstab, Wynne's specialty is healing, Morrigan can shapeshift, and the others have a knack for something as well." Ara glanced away.

"I can tell you that I only have one talent, and that wouldn't be very useful to you chivalrous adventurers."

"Shall we say that you're good with men?" Nesiria thought for a moment. "You're probably the most charismatic where they're concerned out of us all, and at the very least you can distract some guards or something. That's one thing."

"Keep thinking."

"Well, I'll think on the way. Are you coming or not?" Nesiria asked, shifting her weight. Ara sighed quietly.

"I don't think they would be too pleased," she said, gesturing vaguely to the group.

"Oh, quit making problems for yourself. If we can convince Morrigan, we can convince anyone-and I have the perfect method."

"What's that?" Despite herself, the confidence in Nesiria's voice strayed into hers.

"Well, you're the kind of person she likes. You hit rock bottom, I assume, and then you did what you had to in order to survive-even though you loathed the prospect. You've got a good deal of power over at least a few men, and she likes that. You're someone she could grow to respect, if you kept face. She also tends to give up when she doesn't care much anyway but felt like putting up a fight, and everyone else will think the same as me: if Morrigan's convinced, there's no criticism they can address now that she hasn't already. See what I mean?"

"I don't have power over any men, wherever you got that notion."

Nesiria raised her eyebrows, part skepticism and part surprise. "Then...I don't know, act like you do. But you see my point?"

"Sure."

"So do you want to come with me to convince Morrigan?"

"No. I'll stay here."

The elf shrugged. "Okay. We'll be back." By now, people had begun to stir, and Nesiria nodded at Ara before she padded over to Alistair and pulled his ear. His eyes flew open, and she kissed his lips as he inhaled sharply. "Morning." The Templar smiled.

"Mm-hmm." He glanced around and saw Ara, giving her a questioning glance as he stood. Nesiria explained, and he shrugged and nodded. "All right, sounds good to me."

"Too flexible," she chided, smiling. "If only everyone else were as easy."

"Thinking of Morrigan?"

"Precisely. Tell them where I went, will you? Before she decides we're taking too long and comes looking for us."

"Of course." He pulled her into a quick embrace, and when he released the elf she turned and shot an encouraging smile towards Ara before whipping out of sight, back toward the tavern.

* * *

Eventually, everyone followed. Alistair was the first, saying that he worried Morrigan had eaten their leader. Leliana rolled her eyes and accompanied him to "keep him from getting into trouble," and after a few minutes Wynne sighed and stood without a word to follow all three of them. That left Ara, knees up to her chest in the doorway of the shack, and Sten. Minutes passed.

"Is there any reason your eyes aren't moving from my back?" The Qunari rarely spoke first, but he was uncomfortably aware of Ara's stare between his shoulder blades. She didn't reply for so long that he almost turned around to make sure she hadn't somehow disappeared.

"Qunari?" she asked finally. Still facing away, his expression tightened. Strange question to ask.

"Yes."

"I heard Nesiria call you Sten, I think."

"That is what most call me."

"But that's a title, not a name."

"They are the same thing."

Ara hesitated. It was true, but _sten _was, from what she had read, a war title. She struggled to phrase her question in a way that he wouldn't answer literally.

"Then...what did your parents call you? When you were young?"

"It is not in my memory. They did not identify by names."

"Don't you have a name? A...an _asala _name? Not just a title?" This she said tentatively, not knowing if she even had the translation right. Sten, however, glanced sharply back over his shoulder.

"Soul name?" he repeated. "As Ara, or Nesiria?" His accent thickened over the delicate Elfin syllables of the Warden's name. Ara nodded. "Sten has become my name. I don't have another one."

She said nothing more, though his voice seemed to sharpen as he asked quickly, "Where did you hear of _asala_?"

"I..." Ara trailed off for a moment. She thought. "I met a Qunari once. Scared the shit out of me. Hurt like hell, too. All he ever spoke in was his own language, and it killed me not to have any idea what he was saying. Never wanted to have a...customer-for lack of a better word-like that again. So I visited the Chantry and read up a little, which didn't happen often, and became...fascinated. Kept reading, didn't know that I accidentally memorized some of the language, and...yeah. That's it." She changed position, sitting on her knees now. "Never came in handy, 'cept maybe now." Ara paused for a few moments, and finally said derisively, "Well, aren't you talkative." Sten looked up with an expression akin to disapproval, turned away, and waited.

* * *

Back at the Gnawed Noble, Morrigan sighed.

"If you say so." She had already presented her arguments, vented her frustration at this charity do-gooder attitude, and now she'd been worn out. Whatever Nesiria wanted was what went, generally. Anyone with any objections at first had been assured that Morrigan had covered them, and now that she complied there was virtually no resistance. There was no denying they needed more fighters, anyway, though there was still the question of who would teach Ara to fight. Zevran volunteered immediately-but he was Zevran, and he had not volunteered out of the kindness of his assassin's heart. They headed back to the alley, finding both Qunari and prostitute in the exact same positions as before. But now they were talking.

"_Kensha ebas e imekari_," Sten told her, back still turned.

"I speak like a child?" Ara parroted, scoffing. "Well, it's not like I've studied in the Qun, now have I? _Kensha ebas e imekari un _Fereldan, _kabethari._"

" Nonsense._ Pashaara_."

Nesiria turned to exchange a single glance with Alistair, standing at her side. Her eyebrows had shot up. He nodded, and scuffled his feet a little to warn the two of their presence. Everyone else but Alistair, Bear, and Zevran had stayed behind at the tavern, and Ara turned.

"Well?" she asked quickly, face showing every sign of being caught in some kind of act.

"Morrigan broke down eventually, which-for her-is throwing her hands up and sighing in resignation. So everyone else sort of followed, which means you're good. The only thing that might come up is fighting: we've had time to practice and you haven't. Zevran offered to give you a few lessons."

"Okay."

And that was it. Ara kept a facade of no emotion, returning to the Gnawed Noble, and kept her distance until they returned to camp that night.

* * *

"Right, then," Nesiria called, wrapping her crumbs up and tossing the pieces of bread, apple core, and bones into the fire. She tucked her sheet of leather, her tablecloth of sorts, into her tunic pocket and then addressed the group again. "Because _someone _might just throttle me in my sleep if we don't get out of Denerim,"-at this she smiled pointedly at Morrigan-"we'll leave tomorrow, headed for Redcliffe. We're probably long overdue on talking to the Arl, and I've heard that the village is a good place to stay for awhile, seeing as how I think this particular journey might get a bit...drawn-out."

"Surely not as much as Denerim, of course," Morrigan said dryly, and Nesiria gave a quick laugh.

"Perhaps. But there's much more to entertain a mage like yourself in Redcliffe. Zombies and ruins and whatnot."

"No idiot merchants selling their idiot wares at idiot prices?"

"One would hope not, unless those idiot prices are idiotically low."

"Mm." Morrigan nodded and incinerated her own food with a quick blast of magic, guiding the ashes to the fire and letting them fall with a pop.

"Anyone else disagree?" Nesiria asked, casting her gaze around the group. No one volunteered a hand or a word, and Alistair patted his stomach and got up.

"Ah, a stomach nice and full with an apple and half a pig ear," he sighed, a complaining note in his voice. "And no one to tuck me in. How sad." The other Warden rolled her eyes.

"Shoo."

"Yes, yes, I'm going." He gave her a look as if he very much wanted to kiss her, but nearly blushed at the thought-too many watching eyes. The Templar threw the remainder of his food-which was, of course, the only parts that were utterly inedible, not including the core of the apple and an attempt on the bone marrow of the leg he had devoured-into the fire and rolled up his makeshift napkin. Then he shook his sore knee out, jarred by a solid pommel-strike the day before, and imperceptibly limped to his tent.

Nesiria made to follow him, but stopped and turned back to Zevran, pivoting on one foot.

"Think it would be a good idea to...assess Ara's skills tonight, or starting tomorrow?" the elf asked, and the Antivan Crow looked up with a blooming smirk on his face.

"Assess her skills in what, exactly?" he asked with an attempt at being casual, flicking a bread crumb off his knee. Nesiria scoffed.

"Oh, Zevran, don't even go there. In fighting. Fighting only."

"Ah, a shame." He got to his feet, tightening the belt that supported one of his knives. "I suppose it would be a good idea, yes."

Ara had watched this exchange with a guarded expression, and stood carefully when Zevran gave her a slow smile and beckoned her to follow. "We will go deeper into the woods, then, where I may be able to scare her and she may not be conscious of your blunt staring," he called, to which Nesiria answered, "If one ring of chainmail is out of place on either of you when you return, I will know and you will be sorry."

"Ah, yes, I keep forgetting that you are my mother."

The answer to this wasn't heard, as by now the undergrowth and branches had snapped closed behind them and they were swallowed into the darkness. After a few moments of bushwhacking, Ara inquired in a low, impatient voice, "Do you even know where we're going?"

"Of course I do. An Antivan always knows where he's going. It is hard to get lost in a flat desert, you know."

"Yes, but Ferelden isn't a flat desert like Antiva. We have trees, and wild animals that kill people at night."

"That, love, is what knives are for." His accent changed on the word _love, _not at all what Ara expected. He almost rolled it, as if he were suddenly from Orlais. She fell silent, wondering and worrying that she would say too much anyway and have them think of her as airheaded, or not as pensive as she perhaps seemed when she was silent. She didn't have a particularly pensive disposition, though, so the matter was probably lost anyway.

"Ah, here we are." Zevran stopped in a clearing that had opened as quickly as the forest had closed behind them when they entered. He stepped into the waxing moonlight, flipping a gleaming knife that flashed white as he unsheathed it. He glanced at her for a moment. "Your knives?"

"What?" Ara asked, surprised.

"You did not bring them?" Zevran sounded incredulous, putting her on the defensive immediately.

"Well, I didn't particularly think they'd do much good." She found herself lying immediately. "They were dull, and old."

"Dull can be sharpened, and old can be traded for money. You did not even bring them with you from Denerim?"

"I left them in the bar."

"Then we will sneak back and get them." Zevran's voice rose in pitch, as if he was suggesting something that should have come to her ages ago.

"We can't. They've been stolen and sold by now."

Zevran raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. "All right. The next Hurlocks we fight, you take their gold and buy yourself some new knives, if you say yours were so old." He glanced regretfully at the dagger in his hand. "Ah, for now, you may use mine." He flipped it at her, and she did not catch it and instead concentrated on getting out of its way, halfheartedly fumbling the pommel in her fingers as she tried to sidestep. The handle spiraled down and sunk into the dirt, and Zevran frowned. "That was a fine throw, and a wasted one. Hold your hand out and she will land in your palm."

"Right. Sure."

The Antivan Crow shook his head and gestured to his knife. "At least respect her when you use her, yes?"

"Fine." Ara tugged the hilt out of the soil, careful not to brush the edge of the blade, and hefted it in her hand. It was a nice weight, much better than her old ones, but her own thoughts told her that even this wouldn't help her in handling it. As soon as she had a good grip on it, there was another knife brushing her scalp.

She yelped and ducked, landing on her knees and raising her own weapon far too late. Zevran clucked.

"Staying on your feet is a useful skill to learn, especially when getting out of the way. Should you become a Crow, you might also want to work on landing on your feet and not rolling as many do, but we will get to that in time. You are dead, by the way."

"Thanks," Ara muttered.

"Shall we try again?"

"Sure."

Another moment passed, and now her attack was straight forward. She stepped to the side again, but she concentrated too hard on keeping her feet steady that the knife was yanked into a curve and landed an inch away from her temple. She stepped back the other way out of reflex, and gave a cry of pain when her left hand hit a second blade.

"Ah, apologies," Zevran said, not sounding one bit sorry as he took his dagger away. "But your other hand _was _swinging limp and idle. I might have cut your hand off if you'd come any closer."

"Right, so both my hands are crippled now," Ara muttered viciously. "_Ouch, _dammit." Zevran shrugged.

"Nesiria knows now that we were actually practicing, does she not? Unless she thinks me such an idiot as to neglect to take my weapons off were we to make lo-"

"Thank you very much, Zevran, for proving a point. Can we go back to camp now?"

"Not if you want to die on the first battle tomorrow. Redcliffe _is _all the way across Ferelden, you know, and Nesiria probably gave us a long journey to get you settled in before we begin any major and far more dangerous journeying. You cannot do that very well if you are dead, though, no?"

"I'll take my chances."

"Then it shall be no fault of mine when you die, my protégé."

"What are you, secretly from Orlais or something?" Ara turned to begin walking back to camp, warily handing Zevran his dagger and cradling her hand, and he chuckled.

"One picks up languages wherever he goes."

"I see." None of the malice drained from her voice.

They let the bushes whip closed behind them, unsurprised when it was clear that Sten and Morrigan were the only two awake. Zevran gave a low, mocking bow, and then walked leisurely back to his tent to disappear into the flap. Sorely tempted to go to Morrigan and plead her case, Ara decided against it and set her teeth as she sank down on a log next to the sleeping fire, gingerly flexing her fingers. The gash wasn't relatively deep, though it went all the way across the back of her hand. Not nearly as painful as the one Nesiria had healed, but she couldn't help muttering to herself about her hands seeming to be a popular target.

She lost track of how long she sat by the fire until a ribbon of magic wrapped her hand and sewed everything back together with that same hollow, uncomfortable feeling. Ara jumped, looking up at Morrigan, who sighed.

"You're making me bored simply watching you," the apostate mage said, with no effort to lower her voice. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I don't know," Ara answered, feeling rather bold. "Should I?"

"How spirited. I cannot claim to be one to judge."

"How do you know healing magic?"

"It's a skill all mages are required to learn. We are useless without it." She paused for a moment, looking almost thoughtful. "Nesiria and Wynne are, in any case."

"But I thought you weren't part of the Circle."

"I am not. Just because the _Circle_ teaches it does not mean 'tis a bad idea."

Ara had no answer to that, and instead stood and nodded without thanking Morrigan before shaking her hand a little to get the blood flowing normally and throwing out a blanket. The mage looked skeptical.

"You sleep outside?" she inquired with raised eyebrows.

"Don't you?"

"No. I shift, so that no forest creature will bother me, and then I sleep wherever suits my form."

"Sounds comfy."

"'Tis, indeed."

"What about Sten?"

"I cannot say. As far as I know, the Qunari never sleeps."

Ara smiled at this: she had actually read that somewhere. To this day, though, she didn't accept it. Perhaps she would find out someday. She nodded at Morrigan before crawling onto the ground and sliding into the blankets, eventually falling into sleep.

**x.X.x**

**Surprisingly, Sten is the easiest person to keep in-character. Morrigan and Zevran (especially him) are not. If you have any suggestions-please. Feel free to yell at me ;D**

**So this'll be a pretty heavy T-rating, and then it WILL change to M. Hopefully I won't get into that part too quickly, but it's going to be interesting, as said in the first chapter.**

**Buckle up. **

**_-Twili_  
**


	3. Streak

**Hola!**

**There'll be a burst of chapters in the beginning, and then I'll start getting writer's block every few pages and then there'll be spontaneous bursts of activity. 'Tis the way of the artist, don't you think? **

**So here we are, chapter 3, with not-very-much Sten-stuff and more Zevran. But don't you worry your pretty heads: lotsa Sten stuff coming up. As I said in the first chapter, I'm trying lots of new things here, from seriously serious epic character development to capturing life. And, of course, I always try and spend at least two chapters introducing everyone before I get into my main characters. **

**TADAA~!**

**Disclaimer: Why does everyone seem to hate Sten on their first playthrough? I loved him, especially when he called me Kadan. :D *heart***

**x.X.x  
**

She opened her eyes to the sunrise and was awake, with no memory of the nightmares but very aware that she had somehow slept on her wrist the entire night. Standing moodily and rubbing the heel of her hand, Ara folded her blankets and stuffed them in the backpack that had been provided for her before joining the others for breakfast. Leliana, apparently, always slept a bit late-as did Zevran. Wynne called it an incurable case of lethargy, but at least Ara was not the last to wake.

"So, to Redcliffe?" Alistair asked Nesiria as Ara sat down, his mouth full with cheeks bulging. The Warden rolled her eyes.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Alistair. It's impolite." She put on an exaggerated air of motherhood, looking down on him. He made a great effort to swallow, nearly choking, and nodded.

"Right. _So_ sorry," the Templar intoned when he had recovered. "We _are _beginning the journey to Redcliffe today, though, right?"

"Yes, we are. Is there anything anyone else needs from Denerim?" At this she raised her voice, addressing everyone-including bleary-eyed Leliana who was just padding out of her tent. Assuming that there would be merchants on the way where she could purchase some knives when she had the gold, Ara remained silent.

"Okay. Start packing up, someone get Bear to wake Zevran, and then we'll be off." At the last command, Alistair grinned and gleefully urged the Mabari over to Zevran's tent. The huge dog, elated at an invitation, charged into it and was rewarded with a cry of surprise and then a muttered, "I would have killed you, dog, if I slept with my knives."

Ara suppressed a smile, grateful that she had only blankets and so she needed only to roll them up, and idly wondered if she should find something else to do. Before she could convince herself to move, though, everyone was done.

It was amazingly quick, as if they had done this a million times before, and Nesiria nodded as if she expected no less. "All right, then. We're off." She led them to the Drakon River, and then they followed it, as they would on the entire journey across Ferelden.

* * *

"Ara!" Zevran's accent gave gilded edges to all of his words, but her name especially. He had a way of rolling the "r" that made her wonder if he was actually addressing her. She glanced up, and did not catch the coin he threw. But as she knelt to pick the sovereign up, another hit her ear.

"Hey!" she snapped accusingly, surprised.

"What, you do not want the gold? It is not my fault you cannot catch it."

"Well, don't chuck it at my head," she muttered, dropping the two pieces into her coin pouch. Her brother, Isaac, had made it when she was younger-but that rarely crossed her mind. Of more interest was the two-now four-coins gleaming dully in the leather's shadows, only two sovereigns away from being able to buy a good pair of knives. She pulled the drawstring, letting the pouch drop and swing from her belt before walking after the group. They had had a few battles consisting of higher ranks of Hurlock that made Ara shudder but that Wynne looked almost happy to fight, and Zevran had pick pocketed whatever gold the smaller ranks had before they were even dead. Nesiria looted the rest, but Ara got Zevran's gold-assuming she could catch it, of course. It was nearly noon, and they had been following the river since sunrise, but they still had a very long way to go.

The elf glared up at the sun, wiping her brow and calling, "If you haven't had lunch yet, I would recommend it." Ara was surprised, realizing that she was starving but unaware that they were even _going _to have lunch. Still, she told herself in a self-pitying tone, I've gone without lunch and dinner and breakfast for awhile. I'm used to it. Idly she wondered if it was too late for the pitiful, poor prostitute guise that might cover for her past blunders-namely neglecting to take her knives and having to steal some of the group's gold for it. Eventually she decided against it, and reached into her pack for an apple and a few chunks of heavily seasoned meat, eating quickly and then resisting the temptation for more. A few hours rolled by of listless walking, interrupted only by a few hills and sparse forests.

"Darkspawn!" Nesiria's cry rang out suddenly from the front, as well as the earth-shaking bass tremble of a Stonefist spell as it was shot from her staff, melting into the earth as it shattered at the chest of a Hurlock. Ara jumped.

"Well, don't start without me!" Morrigan retaliated, falling into her spider form and constricting the Genlocks with a thread of silk so that Nesiria's Tempest could take them out. Alistair and Zevran stayed close to one another, Alistair taking the brunt of the attacks while the assassin slipped in and out. Ara watched, half-awed and half-irritated as each Darkspawn fell at once. Only when they were gone and laying prone on the dirt, tiny puncture wounds in the backs of their necks or ribs, did she catch a glimpse of the Crow's blond hair whipping to the next one. Alistair both weakened and distracted them, and so the two held their own quite well.

Sten, she noticed, fought alone. Despite the obvious training behind his sword, discipline Ara was sure she would be hard-pressed to achieve, he looked slightly uncomfortable at every strike. Every time he swung, though there was an enormous amount of power behind it, he looked almost like he was reorienting himself, as if his sword was not as long as he thought it was or it swung slower than he anticipated. It took her a long time of watching him to realize it, eventually concentrating absolutely on his every strike and then realizing she was staring. Not before, however, she saw the expression on his face every time the blade connected: uncomfortable, and even a little annoyed.

Morrigan fought alone as well, switching quickly between her forms to both use the animals' abilities and her own magic. She still seemed a little clumsy in her bear form, but with the spider she looked far too lethal for Ara's liking.

Wynne and Nesiria were partnered as well, taking turns healing and covering the other's back while their staffs rejuvenated their magic. They had virtually the same skills in their arsenal, though Wynne was much more accomplished in healing and Nesiria had an array of elemental spells at her disposal. Together they took on two, sometimes three or four enemies at a time, and every now and then Nesiria sent out a quick Winter's Grasp or Cone of Cold to make sure they weren't overwhelmed.

Leliana, of course, stayed back and shot a continuous stream of arrows into the fray where the Darkspawn were gathered the thickest. She may have been overly careful not to hit her allies, Ara thought, but perhaps she had good reason.

Bear did a good job of distracting them, but his teeth and claws weren't much of a match for armor. Mostly he ran in circles.

Ara stayed back, away from Leliana and away from the fight. Weaponless and feeling horribly useless-with no small degree of frustration and anger at this fact-she watched the fight carefully and resisted the temptation to sit down and doze. She didn't know anyone here particularly well-while it would not be a joy to her if they died, she was never one to ignore humanity, and watched their movements to try and learn from them.

The fight took a minute or two, nothing but a flurry of movement and whirling staffs and swords to Ara, though she tried to follow it as best she could. The last Darkspawn had a sword run through its chest, fell, and for a moment they relaxed. Leliana lowered her bow, but it was too soon.

Ara heard the breathing as if the creature were right behind her, and then a throaty, rumbling, purring growl. It was strange, as if the sound itself vibrated, and then came the rapid thudding of huge footsteps. Her eyes widened in dread, looking up from under a heavy brow, as an Ogre thundered up the hillside and over the horizon like some misshapen mountain rising out of the earth.

"Petrify it if you can." Wynne's low voice carried easily, and Nesiria glanced back with panic rapidly disappearing in her gaze as she nodded and closed her eyes. The Ogre kept coming, and behind it was a league of Hurlocks and Genlocks alike, the almost turtle-like bodies of the latter forming a waist-high barrier between their superiors and the Warden.

Ara only remembered them getting closer, and then they were upon Nesiria, who stood at the front with Alistair and Morrigan. In a wave they surged over to Zevran and Sten, and then to Wynne and Bear, and now they were heading fast for Leliana. She picked them off where she could and Ara's backtracking became faster and faster, but the Orlesian shook her head and stowed her bow quickly, snapping a knife out of its sheath and beginning a lethal dance around the Darkspawn.

"Don't run!" she called. "They'll follow you!" At this she spun another short, stout dagger toward Ara, who let it fall to the ground and then bent to pick it up. Leliana's cry had turned the attention of a Hurlock to her, though, and it broke off and started for the weaponless bystander. She swallowed, waiting to see what it would do and hoping her instincts would keep her alive from there, but when the creature swung a huge sword she screamed and fell out of the way.

Zevran's advice to stay on her feet made sense now as she scrambled back up only to hit the deck again, trying to avoid the sword and at the same time attempting to gain purchase in the Hurlock's armor-or, really, just getting her blade within a foot of its torso would have been nice as well.

Finally she rolled far enough away that she could pop up and gain her bearings back, though she was by no means nimble on her feet. The Hurlock swung again and Ara skittered backwards as well as she could, trying not to stumble as she circled in order to get in at its back. The Darkspawn, however, could pivot in one place far quicker than she could make an entire revolution around it, and the entire endeavor seemed rather hopeless, She saw her chances every time it swung, and if she had more confidence in her skill she might have ducked in around its guard and plunged the blade into the Hurlock's throat as the creature's sword went down. Surely a slab of steel that heavy could not be moved as fast as Ara could, momentum or not. But this, she knew well enough, was an amateur tactic-and whether or not it worked against this kind of enemy was a chance she wasn't sure she was willing to take.

Acting on a strange impulse, Ara decided to stop. Her feet halted, and she stood quite still for a moment. The Hurlock paused as well, and Ara began to move the opposite direction before it could raise its sword. She had a feeling that she was faster, not as burdened by armor and weapons and with far lighter boots, and was beginning to realize that she, in essence, controlled the creature. She stopped again and reversed direction, and the Hurlock copied her movements to keep her at its front. Ara could turn him whichever way she liked, though it was a rather deadly game she had created.

In retrospect, and as she might realize later, the Hurlock was probably far more tactfully adept than the girl, and was only waiting for her to make a move so that it could defend, find an opening, and attack. It read her every move, trained for every kind of situation, and was not really being controlled by her-their roles could easily have been switched, though Ara had the advantage because _she _was the one trying to get to its back. It had to defend as well as attack, while she really had nothing to defend and no means by which to do so.

As it was, luck was also on her side.

Ara began switching directions faster, hoping the Hurlock hadn't realized what she was doing-though, also in retrospect, it was not very subtle-and at the moment she moved in Morrigan dealt a killing blow to the Ogre.

Its rolling growl died off, choked quite suddenly, and every Darkspawn felt its presence sink into the earth. The Hurlock, believing-as all Hurlocks do-that their leader had been immortal, let its concentration on Ara waver for a few moments as it tried to figure out what had happened.

It never regained said concentration, for at that moment she pivoted her feet and darted around to his open side, springing up on her toes to plunge her spike-dagger into the creature's jugular and stumbling out of the way as it gurgled and swayed, lurching forward for a last few swings at her head. Ara had scooted well out of the way, eyes wide, and stood slowly when the creature's twitching subsided. With bloody hands she walked over to Leliana and offered the dagger back, but the Orlesian shook her head.

"Your first kill, right?" she asked in her delicately accented voice. Ara nodded. "Then you must keep the weapon!" A smile broke out on Leliana's face, and she pushed the dagger back. "You will treasure it someday."

"If I survive," Ara muttered, but felt a few stirrings of elation. She had killed a Hurlock, really killed it, all on her own. It was its own fault that it had been distracted, she told herself. I _can _hold my own.

"Ah, so my lessons _did _come in handy, did they not?" Zevran's voice was a little behind her, and Ara turned.

"Oh, garbage," Leliana said immediately. "She did not use your fighting style at all, blackbird. _You_ do not play mind games."

"We are Crows, not blackbirds," the elf answered stiffly.

"I see no difference."

"_Crows _are sometimes brown."'

"Oh, sorry. Then I shall alternate between calling you brownbird and blackbird, shall I? Don't be ridiculous, Zevran." At this Ara had to laugh, happy to get out a little of her resentment at his little teaching lesson the night before. His eyes narrowed.

"Fine." Before he could walk away, Nesiria's voice carried over to them.

"Everyone all right?" she asked, and glanced at the fallen Hurlock corpse a few meters away from where they stood, blood slowly congealing around its throat.

"Fine," Ara answered, and Nesiria nodded at the felled Darkspawn that was so far away from the main fight.

"Your kill?" she asked, and Ara dipped her head.

"With what? Your bare hands?"

The girl's lips twitched, and Leliana laughed.

"I lent her my dagger, but it is hers now," the Orlesian explained, and Nesiria nodded with a grin.

"Perfect. So you have a weapon now, though I might suggest getting another for the sake of it. That one is a little short-range." Ara found herself laughing.

"I have to agree with you," she said, giving a genuine smile for the first time in awhile. The dagger was, in essence, a spike on a hilt, and she might prefer having a mid-length weapon. Alistair walked over and clapped her on the back.

"Welcome to the nightmare committee," he said. "Now you get to dream about the things you've killed instead of the innocent dreams of your past."

"Fun," Ara answered dryly. "I'm honored."

The Templar laughed and then asked Nesiria, "Shall we keep going, since no one seems dead yet?"

"Good idea," she agreed. "Ara, you want to see what you can find by way of weapons or gold on that Hurlock?"

The girl nodded and walked over, kneeling by its side and rifling through the armor and pouches on his belt until she found a leather bag with a sovereign and a few silvers inside. She transferred these to her own wallet and stood, walking back to the others.

"All right," Nesiria said cheerfully. "Let's go."

* * *

They kept walking, and Ara now found Leliana keeping pace with her instead of letting the girl trek moodily in the back of the group. The bard was welcome company, telling stories and singing a little as well as making Ara tell her everything about what she thought of their group-though Leliana was careful not to probe too deeply into her situation before they had met her. It was appreciated, and she did get a few words out here and there.

Ara was the first to spot the merchant wagon, parked next to a grassy knoll that was rimmed by a dilapidated fence. Nesiria gestured for her to stop, and Ara quickly purchased a long, almost short-sword-like dagger that was slung across her back. She tried to unsheathe and sheathe it a few times, but felt quite sure she would never be able to do so as quick as she would need to in a fight. Even so, it was a very useful weapon paired with her little spike-dagger-provided she could get it out in time.

They kept walking, and as night was falling another attack was upon them. Bolstered by her earlier victory and the fact that she now had more than her fingernails to fight with, Ara jumped into the battle.

She was quickly overwhelmed: fighting Darkspawn on all sides was nothing like strategizing against one. She had no time to think, and-in fact-quickly realized that she had had virtually no training whatsoever. So she swung her weapon blind, not knowing what to do and thanking the Maker every time the blade connected with Darkspawn hide. She lost all sense of direction, and couldn't back out of the battle because she didn't know where she even was.

Then a blade blocked hers and she lashed out the other way on instinct, thinking it was a Hurlock's weapon. But Sten was there instead, back turned to her and one hand catching the hilt of her dagger until her battle-fervor wore away. He stepped back, still defending at his front, and forced Ara backwards until she stood at the rim of the fight again.

"Stay back," the Qunari commanded in a low voice, and though she saw his logic it did nothing to soften her anger.

"I can take care of myself," she snapped, almost involuntarily. He did not look at her, or respond, but the set of his shoulders was almost protective-though not protective of Ara, at least not in the way she might have liked. He was protecting the others from her, or her from herself. She sighed angrily, feeling her teeth grit as she glowered up at Sten from under her brow, and took a few leaden steps back. He nodded without turning to look, but as the Qunari began to step back into battle he turned and met her gaze, as if silently taking the thunderstorm there, and then disappeared back into the fray.

The rest of them made it look quite easy, and Zevran even looked like he was having fun. Ara sulked on the outer rim, feeling conflicted. She wanted to prove that she _could_ fight, but every time she tried she only proved the opposite. Still, she would never prove it if she never fought, but she hated the thought of practicing with Zevran every night with no chance to show anyone else her skills until one was given.

The battle ended as Ara knew it would have, with the utter defeat of the unsuspecting Darkspawn, and Nesiria did a quick check for injuries before they started up again.

"Start looking for a place to camp," she called, glancing at the fiery horizon. "We should turn in soon."

Wynne found one, nestled in a grove of trees that preceded a larger forest up ahead like a warning. Nesiria nodded, bushwhacking for a little while until she found a relatively large clearing and began to set up tents and start the fire. As soon as everything was set up and night had cloaked the sky completely, they ate a quick dinner and then Ara reluctantly followed Zevran to a canopy of shadows where they could practice in muted voices. At least he was giving her some degree of privacy, she sighed. It could be worse.

"All right," he began, unsheathing his weapons. "You have a blade now, so you have no excuses. What did you learn last night?"

Ara tracked her thoughts to the previous day, glancing up at the trees. "Don't let my hand hang limp," she said, remembering slicing the back of her palm open on his knife. He nodded.

"I thought you might think of that first. Is there anything else?"

"Stay on your feet."

"Yes!" Zevran smiled, though it took on a slightly conceited air. "Then we are ready to begin." He swung an experimental strike to the top of her head, and Ara just barely scraped her own blade against it in time. Zevran gave a brief nod and jabbed another knife at her ribs, and she yanked her single long dagger down to block that one as well. He clucked. "Your head has just been cleaved open, sweet."

"I can hardly block with my other dagger," Ara muttered, though she realized what she probably should have done a moment later.

"You don't have to stay so close," Zevran answered, confirming her thoughts. "Avoid my blades when you can."

She nodded and backed up again, and this time when Zevran attacked she blocked it from the side and kept her knife where it was while she retreated as far as possible to evade his second strike. He nodded, taking the first blocked blade out of the way and going for her other side so that, for a moment, she was sandwiched between them and Zevran's arms had crossed to form an X in front of his protégé. On an impulse, Ara shoved the left dagger farther left, taking its empty space to avoid the right and backing up even farther. Zevran nodded again.

"You think well," he told her. "But you are far too slow. You think too much, which slows your movements enough for me, moving instinctively, to match you."

"So what would I do about that, then?" Ara asked. "Practice?"

"I learned to turn my mind off." Zevran shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps you could do the same. It is not, however...something I could teach you." His shoulders rolled again. "I do not know how I was taught, either."

"Okay...so what now?"

"We keep practicing until your speed improves. I think you may be able to learn simply by learning your movements well." And with that, the lesson continued.

**x.X.x**

**DAYUM.**

**Zevran is SO ANNOYING TO KEEP IN-CHARACTER. I can imagine him talking, but I can't translate that properly into my writing. Suggestions are welcome, and believe me, I'm trying. XD**

**WOOO~!  
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	4. Learning the Hard Way

**WOOOO! 8D**

**I'm soo tempted to list all (2) of the reviewers like I did for a story in the past, if only to show how (sadly) grateful I am, but I quickly got up to high numbers of readers and spent about ten minutes every chapter combing through reviews for new people jumping on the wagon. Still, it was fun. I feel pitiful, though, because nowadays I still think of those people as my family or something ^^**

**Hey, they were all awesome. We saw a story through together.**

**Ah, I love FFNet. **

**Disclaimer:*cries* I MISS MY REVIEWERSSS~ D8 (but I do have moar now XD)**

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To Ara, it seemed as though her whole life became a lesson. She was constantly learning, constantly being told to learn, or constantly suffering for what she had neglected to learn. Evening practices with Zevran continued, though for the life of her she could not seem to turn her mind off and achieve the blank look she now noticed in many of the fighters' eyes as they took on the Darkspawn on the road. Every time it was almost clear, clean as a newly washed sheet and just as easily stained, a twig cracked or some taunting, idle observation danced across her thoughts. She would open her eyes in frustration, and then it all was lost.

Zevran tried overwhelming her with attacks to unlock her rather berserk side, but she only stopped moving on impulse when he moved too close. He asked her why one night.

"You did it again," the elf remarked. Ara's eyes, which had suddenly turned dull and listless, ever-so-slightly brightened again as she came back to her senses.

"Did what?" she inquired, sounding as if she really couldn't make herself care about what she did.

"I have noticed," he began thoughtfully, "That when I move to fast and too close you seem to simply...stop. Ah...how do you say..._shut down_. You do not respond to anything until I move away. Why is this?"

"I dunno," Ara muttered, shrugging and pushing away a few reasons she could come up with. "No use anyway. It's not like that's going to help me do anything but block three consecutive attacks without breaking down." It was true, he admitted. Even if she didn't go into that strange comatose state, he always got an attack under her waning defenses after only a few seconds. True, battles did not last that long, but against legions of Darkspawn and many attacks at once this would not keep her alive. Yet he felt sure, if he could only shut her thoughts off without shutting her entire mind off, that she would actually begin to improve past only knowing her strikes and blocks. As it was, he was either a very bad teacher or she was not cut out for the work of a rogue. Because he was Zevran, he was convinced that it was the latter.

Meanwhile, a few members of the group had taken to watching the practices, which did nothing to help Ara's edginess. When they could, she dragged Zevran into the seclusion of some deer trail in the forest, but mostly that was unavailable.

A matter of particular confusion to her was Sten. He, especially, took to watching her very intently one night after she had "shut off," as Zevran said, more than twice. The elf was curious, testing what made her stop and what only overwhelmed her, and he had convinced himself that it was not some sort of reverse-Berserker skill. Sten, however, being brought up to think like a Qunari, had his own ideas. He kept watching every night, whenever he could, and it was his attentive presence that became the biggest source of distraction for Ara.

Finally, when she had not shown any improvement over the course of a week and Zevran was beginning to grow impatient, Sten spoke with Nesiria.

"We are nearing Redcliffe," he murmured as they walked. "Perhaps a week's travel if we travel quickly, two at the most."

"Yes," she answered carefully. Sten angled his head subtly toward Ara, flanking the group with Leliana and exchanging a few words now and then.

"I would say that she learns as an _imekari, _but children improve. As of late I have seen no advance in her skills, and Redcliffe will not be a kind place to one who has not yet learned of no-mind."

"What are you suggesting?" Nesiria asked, keeping the intrigue out of her voice. That Sten was volunteering what she assumed was unexpected. "Do you have a better way to teach her?"

"Better than the elf."

"Would you like to take over for him? I don't think he'd object."

"I would call it a service to you for freeing me. Losing a fighter is not something you are keen on, I assume."

"You're right." Sten, clearly, had not yet forgotten Lothering. Nesiria nodded, continuing, "I'll speak with both of them. Would you pick up the threads tonight?"

"If I must."

She dipped her head, letting a brief smile show when she was turned away from the Qunari, and slowed her pace to speak with Zevran.

"Sten has...agreed to take up Ara's training in your place, if you don't object." She was careful to phrase it so that the elf would assume she had asked and he had not volunteered, and Zevran raised his eyebrows.

"This is surprising," he remarked, but nodded. "Of course." The flicker of relief showed only when the Warden looked away, to Ara, and jogged a little to catch up with her and Leliana. She explained what had happened, putting Sten in the same light as she had with Zevran, and Ara did not do as good a job of hiding her gratitude. _At least neither of them are averse to it, _Nesiria thought wryly. That had been positively easy.

She told Ara that she would begin tonight, and the girl sighed but retained some semblance of happiness at being liberated from her nightly lessons with the assassin. Leliana seemed to find this highly amusing, and they walked on.

* * *

The day was largely uneventful, with only a few minor battles on the populated trade roads the party took for a few miles. Then, as night fell, they veered off into the grass and made camp on the plains with the silhouetted wagons still in sight, rolling gently over the well-worn dirt of the trade route.

After dinner, Sten did not say a word, but instead got to his feet and disappeared into the grass. A glance from Nesiria and a prod from Leliana got Ara to take the hint and follow, and to her surprise he led them both directly to a small clearing of rocky, untilled soil where there seemed to have been nothing growing for quite some time. The rock gradually gave way to soil and the soil gradually sprouted fronds of silvery green, but in the middle of the area it was perfectly clear of all vegetation. Ara tried not to spend too long thinking about the reason why, because Sten had already drawn his sword. She glanced down despairingly at her two knives, her longest less than a third the size of his, but before she could say a word he was upon her.

His sword moved faster despite its size, though she still searched for that vaguely uncomfortable look-and found it, more than once-that came when he struck. She saw no way to take advantage of this, though, and instead concentrated on staying upright and blocking his sword with her two pitiful knives instead of being continually knocked down by the sheer force and weight of his blade. After a few attacks and unsuccessful blocks, her arm was turning numb.

He stopped when she brought one of them up to block an overhead strike, his weapon a few inches from hers. Ara opened her eyes-which had squeezed shut as she flinched-and glanced up, wondering if he expected her to take advantage of his pause. But he spoke.

"You have no faith in your weapons," the Qunari said shortly.

"What?"

"They will break in half like twigs against mine because you expect them to. But if you tell them that they will not, their resolve will strengthen and I will not be able to hurt them by sheer force of will. Then it is a matter of mind. Whoever has the deeper resolve will break his enemy's sword as if it were no more than a stick."

"So you're suggesting my dagger can hear me?" Ara asked skeptically, thoroughly bewildered-both by what he was saying and the fact that he was saying it at all. Strange as it was, though, it almost made sense to her. She was more confused by his motives for coming out here tonight. Sten nodded.

"Your weapon should be like your arm. Not a part of you, because when it is yanked from your grip you will be left as defenseless as if your hand had been severed, but close to you."

Ara nodded slowly, trying to keep the cynicism out of the raise of her eyebrows, but it looked like he saw it anyway. She concentrated now on imagining her daggers as made of Orzammar diamond, and Sten's as frail as the bone of a bird. Much as she concentrated, though, she could never get past his sword-much less break it-because he simply wouldn't let her. Zevran had played easy a little, letting her get in every now and then when he thought she was improving, but it seemed that Sten would not be beat until she could honestly beat him.

Throughout the whole lesson, his mind was clearly somewhere else. She simply fought him over and over again while he remained mindless, instincts taking over and thoughts going in a different direction. Ara tried to learn, but where Zevran had given her ten things at once to cram into her mind every lesson, Sten seemed determined to only give her one. She kept at it, focusing as best she could, but by the time the lesson ended she was almost as frustrated as she had been that first night and quite sure that she would never be able to get the phrase "Concentrate on your weapons being stronger" out of her head. Sten nodded in approval and led the way back to the camp, where most everyone had gone to sleep. Morrigan stood by her own fire, seeming determined to distance herself as much as possible, and without a parting word Sten dipped his head at Ara and walked over to stand by the entrance of the trail as if guarding the camp. She paced to the fire, and as she passed Morrigan the mage asked innocently, "No injuries this time?"

Briefly wondering if she should laugh at the jest or keep a serious face and push the apostate further away if only to try and gain her respect, Ara decided not to answer. To come to a decision would have been to stop, think, respond, and then keep walking, and so she tried to pretend she hadn't heard. Morrigan fell into a strange silence.

Ara threw out her blankets, rolling closer to the fire in the thin Fereldan wind, and dropped off almost immediately.

* * *

The morning broke bright and cool, and as Ara woke she found one of her hands dangerously close to the sleeping fire. She groggily pulled it back, laying still for a few more minutes before sitting up and rubbing her eyes, then opening them in surprise as she found that this morning she _had _been the last one to wake. Leliana was passing as Ara sat up, and stopped with a light smile.

"You really shouldn't sleep so close to the fire," she chided. "You almost rolled into it." The Orlesian paused, walked back over to where a few others were congregated, and added an extra apple and a few slabs of meat to her leather "plate." She sat on the log parallel to Ara and handed her the food on another strip of hide. Surprised and slightly moved-because good food really was the way to her heart, after stealing burnt meals or skipping them altogether for a year or two before she'd really begun to make a living, something she had never forgotten-Ara sat up and bit viciously into the apple, making no protest as Leliana sank down onto the ground beside her.

"You _do _eat very well," the bard remarked, almost teasingly, as Ara finished the apple core and tossed it into the fire, starting immediately on one of the pieces of pork. She shrugged in reply and swallowed, answering, "Well, I doubt business would be very good if I were all skin and bones." Leliana laughed without thinking.

"We do not care about that here," she said with a smile, but Ara's face darkened imperceptibly. The Orlesian stopped.

"Oh...my apologies if I said something wrong..." she began, but her conversation partner shook her head.

"No, it's nothing. Anyway..." She searched for a new topic. Feeling as if she should make up for whatever she'd said, Leliana offered, "How did your lesson go with Sten?"

Ara paused for a moment, and again Leliana wondered if that had been the right thing to ask. "All right. It was...um...different. It seemed like he was both not paying attention and watching my every move at the same time."

"Yes, I have seen that," she laughed again. "Did you learn anything?"

Ara shrugged. "Sure."

Sensing that she was withdrawing out of the conversation, the bard stood with a temporary goodbye and tossed the remnants of her food into the fire before going to Nesiria, who was overseeing a few last-minute preparations for taking the camp down.

"Anything I can help with?" she asked, and the elf nodded with a smile and directed her over to the last few tents still standing, following as well when Leliana walked over.

Ara got to her feet and rolled up her blankets, leaving her food to try and be helpful for once. She assisted in the dismantling of a tent and then finished her breakfast, scattering the ashes of the now-smothered fire with her feet and walking over to where many were already gathered, ready to go.

"We should be getting to Redcliffe in around eight, perhaps nine days," Nesira announced as they began moving. "Start brushing up on your people-skills." At this she looked pointedly, albeit jokingly, at Alistair. He bowed like a true gentleman.

"I shall."

The elf smiled, doing a once-over if only to check on everyone, and smiled to herself as everyone slowly migrated to where they generally walked: Sten near the back, Ara and Leliana flanking, Morrigan as far as possible from anyone else, and Wynne and Zevran walked in the middle-either behind or next to Alistair and Nesira. Bear loped wherever he pleased, preferring to stay next to Zevran, much to the Antivan's displeasure.

At every battle, which happened anywhere from every few hours to three in one hour, Ara tended to stay back. Sometimes she caught a few stragglers from the main group, but mostly she watched with a vaguely interested expression. They stopped for lunch, sometimes eating on the move, and at night came her lesson with Sten.

The Qunari always found some secluded place to practice, and had her improving focus for almost the entire week. He seemed to find the blade-fighting the most important, and kept her ruthlessly on it, sometimes for hours. Not particularly tiring, though it was sparring and therefore required short bursts of constant movement-which worked up a sweat rather quickly. The mental part was perhaps the most taxing, because he somehow had her thinking about more things than Zevran had ever told her to remember, though he had taught her far less. Sten was, Ara thought dryly, a much more urgent teacher than Zevran had been. Still, she was pleased to see her own improvement, and began joining in a few of the smaller battles the party had on the road.

After awhile, she fought in all of them. Though sometimes she darted in and out as quickly as her less-than-nimble feet would allow (and had tripped once or twice, though she hardly thought about that), she still managed to land at least a few strikes every now and then, or at the very least keep herself alive. She had never been more pleased when, as they were less than a day from Redcliffe, her teacher remarked on her improvement in a decisively Qunari-like way.

"You take to your weapons well," Sten told her when she finally blocked one of his double-strikes-almost Zevran's style. She stopped in surprise, and he quickly took the opportunity to kill her (had they been truly fighting) as he spoke. "There have been less nicks to be repaired in your armor and less wounds to be bandaged on your limbs."

"I have noticed that," Ara agreed, grimacing. She had always been the one to sew those nicks in her armor, and sewing leather was not a very rewarding task even if it _did _stay together when you were done-or, really, if you even knew how. "Ah...thanks." She kept from laughing to herself, turning his statement over in her head. _Limbs _was such a Sten-like word.

The Qunari didn't answer, only killed her again and then sheathed his weapon and bowed. When Ara copied his movements, the lesson was over.

She followed him back to camp and gratefully slid under the blankets, happy to bend her knees and be something other than standing. From there, sleeping was an easy thing.

The next morning, however, was different. They woke to chaos, and Ara bolted up at Nesiria's panicked scream of, "Darkspawn!" She skidded off her blankets and tumbled over to her knives, mercifully close to her sleeping place. She hadn't begun to sleep with them yet, convinced that she would gut herself the moment she tried rolling over in the night, but now it seemed like a good idea as a Hurlock kicked the blades out of the way with a deep laugh. Ara changed direction and rolled out of his range, scrambling to her feet with no room to circle him in the thick of battle around her. At the same time, she felt herself slowly being overwhelmed as her mind frantically tried to keep track of her allies and enemies in order to just keep her alive-much less fight her opponent now.

He lunged, fists outstretched, and she gasped and barely missed him, turning her back to the creature as she pivoted to get out of the way. But he, a far more accomplished fighter, merely stopped and wrapped his arms in a chokehold around her neck from behind. And no matter how much punching, kicking, writhing, or biting she did he would not even flinch. Ara's struggles grew weaker as the pressure inside her head built from lack of oxygen, her mind ready to simply pop. She tried to give a choked scream, but the air in her lungs felt as though it was entirely gone.

And then, before she had even given up to death, the arms grew limp and slid off her shoulders, pulling her to the ground with their weight. She collapsed backward, almost on top of the Hurlock, not even breathing for a moment as if getting used to the oxygen flow again, and finally gasped for air and looked around for the reason she was still alive.

She almost expected it to be Sten, but he was too far away to have gotten over here in time. Whoever it was had simply disappeared back into the battle. For a moment, unnoticed, Ara thought guiltily that they saved their allies on instinct in the thick of battle: she took twice as long to register that anyone was even in danger.

Then the fight began to surge too close around her, and she stood and caught her breath as best she could before jumping back in.

There were bruises already blossoming on her neck by the end of the skirmish, but she was slightly distracted by the gash running the length of her forearm. She shuddered-she had only noticed icy steel grazing her skin before the blood streaming down her arm was far too hot and caused her to nearly lose the grip on her dagger. Had she not been wearing gloves, she would have been weaponless for the second time that morning. As it was, the full-body armor was also seeming like a better and better idea.

She joined the others, stepping over Darkspawn corpses and closing her eyes for a moment when her foot squelched in the blood-soaked mud. Then she crossed paths with Morrigan, who appraised the gash and bruises and nodded warily. Ara nodded back, still undecided on how best to act around the mage whose respect was so important to her.

Nesiria raised her staff upon seeing the two of them, but Sten shook his head in her peripheral vision. She turned slightly in confusion, and he tilted his head toward Ara.

"She is in no danger. Let her learn to heal on her own."

"_What?_" Ara spluttered, arm burning and making her voice even sharper. Morrigan gave a sudden and unexpected chuckle.

"Well, that _is _amusing," the mage said with a decidedly sadistic grin. "Especially because I am no part in your training, Qunari."

"Do you know how to wrap your own injuries?" Nesiria asked, looking as though she didn't think the proposition was a very bad idea.

"I'm not a child," Ara protested, nodding jerkily. "Don't you think I'm a danger as it is? I'll just die tomorrow if I can't use my arm." Her voice was snappish and had a tinge of sarcasm, and Nesiria glanced at Sten. He shook his head again.

"She will learn. But,"-he directed his gaze at Ara for the first time in awhile-"you only prove my point. You have begun to rely far too much on magic, a virtually uncontrollable power, and so when these mages turn demon and let themselves go you _will _die." At this, try as she might to stay angry and stare him in the face, Ara shifted uncomfortably. Damn truth. She did, however, have one last feeble argument.

"So you're just going to throw me to the wolves when I have virtually no pain tolerance...as you put it?"

"No." He turned and ended the conversation. Ara sighed and resisted the urge to punch someone, for the first time feeling the bruises on her neck and wincing as she brought her good hand up to prod them with her fingertips. She had always _wanted _a pain tolerance to be proud of, sure, but suddenly it wasn't so important anymore. She could hardly turn her head without something being pulled, and if Sten wanted to get her killed he sure had a tedious and sadistic way of going about it.

Before they began walking, a roll of cloth and a few bandages landed at her feet. She glanced at whoever threw them, and Nesiria gestured for her to pick them up.

"Might want to wrap that before we start moving," the elf said, keeping the sympathy out of her smile and instead filling it with a knowing glance and a head-jerk toward Sten. Ara nodded, lips curving, and knelt as she unstrapped her gloves and rolled her sleeve up. In all honesty, she had only ever constricted a few scratches with cloth and put cold water-albeit dirty, because the Gnawed Noble was not known for its sanitary food, which was mostly covered up by its temperature overpowering its taste-over bruises. The ice water had been quite good for that.

This, however, was a different matter. The blood was slow to congeal, still flowing sluggishly, and Ara knew only a few things about stopping it. She knew, however, as all alley rats did, that she had to stop the circulation to that place until she got it wrapped. So she yanked a strip of cloth tight above her elbow, grimacing, and rubbed the skin around the gash until the blood had been soaked off the intact skin, all the while hoping she looked like she'd done this before. The bandages were a mystery: she randomly slapped a few on to keep the wound closed, and wrapped the entire thing in a good deal of cloth, glad now for the few things she knew about this kind of thing. She tied the knot with her teeth and wondered if she should loosen the cloth keeping the blood from the cut, and when her hand began to turn colors she decided that it might be a good idea. The blood flow started back up again, giving a fresh wave of scarlet saturating the white dressing, and Ara stood and made to give the supplies back to Nesiria. The elf, she now realized, had been watching silently, and pushed them back toward Ara.

"You'll probably have to change the bandaging later. Keep them," she said with a nod, making no remark on her ally's healing skill. "Let's go."

**x.X.x**

**Jeez. I started writing, ready to tell myself to take it slow before Redcliffe, and we haven't even gotten to Ara's nightly lesson with Sten yet. Hard to stop once I get going ;)**

**TADA! **

**Thanks, everyone! (and this chapter was written before suggestions were read, so next chapter I'll _use _those wonderful nuggets of insight)  
**


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